


incendiary time

by inheritor



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inheritor/pseuds/inheritor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave's the Flame Prince, and John is a stupid hero in like-like. Adventure Time AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	incendiary time

Dave Strider remembers his life in firsts. 

He remembers the first and last time his brother slips him into the glass lantern. The high sides slant towards him, and the citizens of the Fire Kingdom bristle in and out around him, now distant through the opaque goblet. He remembers that he thinks it’s a special container because he’s royalty, like a special seat where he can lounge on the floor and watch his citizens at the same time, except without fluffy cushions. But he didn’t like the fluffy cushions that much, anyway. He remembers the glass cage rising into the air with his brother, the Flame King, staring up at him.

He remembers his brother promising this was a temporary measure. Promising he won’t be there forever. Promising he will be free, one day. 

Years later, staring up at the same ceiling and perching his feet against the same glass, he thinks his brother makes a lot of promises. 

\--

He passes his life through the glass cylinder, suspended from the ceiling. He’s treated to his every whim, and given every right, except the ones that matter. He watches his brother rule the kingdom, and when his brother stops with his official doo-dads, they rap off together. He isn’t unhappy. He’s very happy, in every single way, except maybe for the ways that mattered. 

Every morning, small flambits hop on each other’s shoulders to throw small flowers into his container. He sits in his glass lantern and grips the limp flower until the flames crawling from his hand spreads to the stems, racing up to the leaf, and gently licking along the petals until the entire flower crumbles into ashes at his feet. 

He remembers the first time he sits amidst the pile of ashes and thinks this is his life. He is the Flame Prince, and he will die in a small goblet. He tells himself there’s nothing out there, and he’s far happier away from the ugly world. 

He thinks, sometimes, if he squeezes his eyes closed just right, he can almost believe it. 

\--

And he remembers the first time his best laid plan crumbles into ruins. 

\--

“My name is John, and I like you!” 

Dave starts, and draws away to the corner of his glass chalice. A particularly unusual looking creature presses his face against the glass, hands spread out wide and nose squashed to a peculiar color. His breath comes out in hot steamy puffs, and the strange creature sweated profusely, even though the temperature was a quite usual skin-melting sort of heat. 

“Oh! Um, I mean like as in like-like. Like, it’s a like, but it’s like like like like, you know?” Though seemingly impossible, John the Strange Creature’s face grew even redder, still pressed alarmingly close against the glass. 

“Sure,” Dave says. “You’re sweating up my glass.” 

“Um, sorry.” John steps back, tugging his hands into his dweeby blue shirt. “But I really do like you, even though I’m sweaty! I’m totally sweaty because these are drops of like for you, since I, um, like you and all.” 

“I don’t even know you. You could be the hoo-hah of whoopass, I don’t know and I don’t care. Not interested and not looking.” Dave lounges back against his glass, arms crossed over his chest. “My digs are deep-fried fine, it’s like I’m nestled in the cleft of some fine glass, so I don’t need you to come bother me just because I’m hot shit.” 

“I won’t bother you. I promise. Double promise.” John twists his hands again into his stretchy shirt, staring down at the charred mess of his shoes. “I think you’re hot and stuff, though. Not just in the temperatural way, I mean, you’re really… hot?” 

Dave doesn’t remember what he says, or how he looks when he says it, even though his entire chamber was nothing but gossamer reflections. He hopes it was some dry, witty remark, topped off with an epic analogy grinding hotter and faster than skateboarding lava. But he can only remember John’s face practically lighting up, and that slow burning feeling inside him where he feels like for once, someone was looking at him without the glass wall between them. 

“Mathematical,” John says, and he smiles. 

\--

John’s a big fucking liar. 

He does come and bother him, constantly, in the way that triple-crosses the double-promise. Even when Dave pretends to sleep, John carefully sits against the hot rock and leans against the glass, voice droning on and on about the strangest things. Dave tries not to listen, pretending volcanoes were novel and fascinating to him, but John persists and rocks back and forth and talks and talks and talks. 

“Today I rescued the Soft People,” John says. “I think I accidentally made one of them go wee-wee, though…”

“There was a festival at the Candy Kingdom, and it was pretty cool! Except one of the candy canes went missing… Anyway, the soup tasted really good this time!”

“So there was this video game and it was really cool, and then I got sucked into it and I had to fight them all using my digital powers, except I was really bad at it.” 

“Do you ever have a day where you don’t do stupid shit?” Dave finally breaks his silence, stomping his feet against the glass. If John is happy to finally hear him talk, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he leans further into the slope of the glass, hands darting back and forth as he talks. 

“Nope! I do stupid shit all day. As stupid as possible. It’s because I’m a hero and stuff. I fight bad guys with my hammer!” John leaps up, pulling the hammer from his side. “Whish! Bop! Whoo!” 

“Are you seriously making sound effects with your mouth?” Dave pushes his elbows to his knees, watching him judgmentally. 

“Um, no.” John pinks around the ears, a remarkable feat considering his entire face always seemed a diluted shade of red from the heat. He rests his hammer against the ground, shifting uncomfortably without eye contact. 

“Good. Because that shit was totally wrong. If it’s sfx, it’s gotta be bam, ba-bam, ba-ba-bam. Get some rhythm into your thick head.” 

“Wow! You’re totally wrong! It’s bonk, bank, ba-bonk, okay? I know what my hammer sounds like, and you are sounding like a hammer getting up on the wrong side of bed.” John’s face splits open into a wide grin, and he pounds the hammer into the ground to make a stupid point. They spend the rest of the day making bad sound effects for the hammer, Dave occasionally jostled against the sides of his room because the hammer ruptures the magma, and they conclude a handsome squish squish quack made the best sound effect for a noble hammer. 

It’s the first time Dave feels a pang of something when John leaves, watching the small shadowy figure wave frantically near the border of his kingdom. It feels like a small stutter, like when a flame ignites with great trepidation, that moment when he isn’t sure the flame will bloom into a larger fire or die into the quiet cold. He doesn’t understand it, and tries to forget it, curling around the glass and sleeping. 

\--

“What do you even do as a hero?” 

“I rescue people.” John draws his bare scabbed knees to his chin, staring out to the burning lands. Everything has always been on fire in the Fire Kingdom for as long as Dave could remember. He could even see one of the Flambits had caught on fire. 

“I don’t need anybody to rescue me,” he tells John, in case there were any misunderstandings. 

“I know. I’m not rescuing you. I just really like you.” John folds his hands across his lap, and something about the sunset casts a shadow over his face. Dave can’t see his eyes, and for some reason, he really wants to see them. But he plays it cool, relaxing back against the glass floor, and watches him out of the corner of his eye. 

“This hero shtick must keep you really busy.” 

“Yeah! It’s really fun. I get to help all sorts of people.” 

“I don’t need any help.”

“I know, asswad.” John hesitates, for a brief second, his shoulders straighten together like a line pulled tight through his back. “I’m a hero, but I’m also a human. If you were wondering about that.” 

“Human? Holy shit.” For once, his guise of uncare slips through his fingers, and he’s arching his eyebrows at the strange creature sitting beside the glass. “I thought humans went extinct years ago. Gone kaput, became great mushrooms for Glob to eat in the salad of death. Just used in soups and other slop they serve nowadays.” 

“Yeah, those are soy people,” John says, and then stops. 

“Are you the last human?” Dave raps his hand against the glass, steaming up the sides. He’s actually eager to look at John now, because there were rainicorns and ghosts and waddling fruit, but a human was something different. 

“No, I’m not the last human.” John’s knuckles pale, fingers digging into his arms. “I mean, maybe! But it doesn’t really matter, okay?” 

Dave drops the subject, but John doesn’t say anything for the rest of his visit, even when Dave prods him. He leaves early, face still kept in shadow, and Dave spends the rest of the night telling himself he didn’t do anything wrong. Asking someone about human soup had never offended anybody before. He paces back and forth all night, just the cracked ceiling above him for company, and by the nightfall, when John usually comes to visit, he has a speech all thought up. He’s going to be mad, really mad, at John for being such an ass. He’s still muttering the speech to himself (dick move dicker than a phallus convention in the Duchy of Nuts) when John really does come back. 

“I got you these shades,” John says, tossing them into the container. “To say sorry for yesterday. I was being an ass.” 

It’s the first time Dave ever mutters an apology to his feet, still holding the shades in his hands. He’s not sure if John heard it, but he knows John just laughs and says something about radicals. 

\--

“So what’s it like to be a prince?” John lies back, flat on the surface, his backpack set aside a little distance away. Dave can almost see the flickering light of a video game still active against the shadow of the flap, but the sun sets quickly and he has little time before John packs his bag and leaves again.

“Pretty great. I get everything I want. My bro’s the king, he does most of this ruling shit, I just get the cheesy dust scrapings from the royal grater. But only a sick dope would trade this life for anything else. I can get cereal with a snap of my fingers. Not even magic cereal, hand-made cereal from their crusty little fire hands.” 

“I guess your bro is cool and all…” John says wistfully into the air. “But don’t you ever want to get out of your glass shell? Do your own thing? I mean, if you only gotta rule sometimes, then you can go adventuring with me. Glob, Flame Prince, there’s tons of adventures and we can go on all of them. At once!” 

“It’s Dave to you,” he says. “Because I don’t like you. And, shit, why would I ever leave? This place kicks bulbous ass. You can spend eleven minutes in here and you’d never want to leave for the rest of your biznasty life.” 

“It’s just a thought!” John rolls onto his stomach, and Dave watches his shirt hitch up against his hips. “But if you ever wanna try it, I’ll build you a house. And you don’t have to wait for me to come here from all my ruckus adventurin’.” 

“Who says I wait for you?” 

“You don’t?” 

Dave shrugs, and looks away.

“We should try it. Getting you out of there, anyway. I mean, what’s the harm? The world’s not gonna break just because you’re not sitting there, all snug and smug and shit. Come on, Flame Pr… Come on, Dave!” John’s sitting up, grinning his stupid little smile, and Dave can’t quite say no. He doesn’t want to say yes, because the reluctance pulls inside him fervidly, a compelling fireball swelling inside his stomach. He can’t remember life without the glass wall protecting him from the world, all the little discrepancies easily escapable by turning over and sleeping. Something about the smooth curve of the goblet soothes him, now, but John grins at him and he can only look away. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says.

\--

It’s a series of firsts that compel him to let John lower the rock ladder down into the glass. He finally says yes because there was the first time he watched John sleep on the floor, and the first time John snorted milk up his nose, and the first time he opens a present from John and gets surprised with confetti clinging to the sides of the walls, and the sparkling pink persists even after he burns the paper away. He tells himself he’d crawl right back into his stupid glass, and he finally steps on the final rung of the ladder to peer up and away from the lantern.

“You look like an idiot,” John tells him, standing below. But Dave doesn’t listen to him, just leans against the rim of the goblet. He had memorized, long ago, every sensation of the glass, but the rim had always been untouchable. Now, he presses his palms against the sides, feeling the radiating gentle heat. 

“Come down! Come on, Dave.” 

“Hold your horses, you’ve got no ceremony,” he tells him. “Gotta get the royal candles out here, light all the torches, sound the fanfare, and find the shittiest breakdancers you know.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, and he doesn’t really care. There’s a slight wind whistling through his flaming hair, and when he glances down at his reflection, he can see his tendrils gently wisp and flicker, dimming out, but flaring back in. His shades look pretty rocking, as well. But he’s never felt—wind. Not like this. 

“Dave!” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Since John was a ditz and had only brought a ladder for the inside, Dave does an undignified slide down the outside. He still has one hand gripping the rim when John reaches out absent-mindedly to take his hand, and he clenches down on his hand hard. He only has a second to think John’s hand feels nice, but like nothing he ever felt before, when suddenly he’s toppling to the ground. 

John lets loose a startled yell, doubling over with his hand cushioned between his stomach and legs. He takes a step back, but Dave’s flame had already spread to that area, and suddenly, Dave feels something he couldn’t remember feeling before. The sensation resembles flaying flesh, peeling away his skin like he was a motherfucking onion, and he screams a horrible, mangled yell and thrashes on the ground. 

“Fuck!” He slams his hands into the ground, and his temper rises so fast, he scorches the walls beside him in blackened soot colors. The mingled pain still resounds in his head, and he grates his teeth together. No other Fire Kingdom citizens are in his periphery, and he wouldn’t have cared if they were tap-dancing next to him. The fire of his hair and his body flare wide and strong, hot flames licking at John’s heels, and he’s been tricked. He’s been tricked, and he should have stayed in the glass container, and he’s angrier than he ever felt in his life. Everything should burn, everything should crumble underneath his fist, the death of his flame sparked a larger combustion rising from inside his heart, scarring and scorching his stomach and lungs. 

“Oh, Glob, sorry. Sorry, Dave, are you okay?” 

It’s John who saves himself, and it’s John who saves him. John reaches out the same hand, eyebrows knit together, and Dave sees the skin of John’s palm still shifting in an uncomfortable color, dark and hot and angry. It’s the first time Dave sees his fires as anything but fun, and the recollection of thousands of burnt flowers pound down upon him. His fire simmers out, and he sits back on his heels. 

“Dave?” John crawls forward a little, a hobble where he tries to keep pressure away from his burnt hand and leg. “Dave, are you okay? We can get you back in there, I promise, don’t worry. If you’re hurt, we can, um… Light a fire? Does that make you better?”

“I’m fine, dumbass,” he says. When he sees John’s disbelieving look, he loosens the hold on his stomach to show the flames had already recovered, melding in sympathy of the lost blaze that had been trampled under John’s foot. 

“Do you want to go back?” John asks, cradling his hand. 

“Probably.” The rock surface felt nothing like his glass, instead bumpy and digging into the flesh of his legs. Everything, from the colors to the shapes, seemed sharper without the glass protecting him. Instinctively, he clutches at the corner of his shades, the only thing stopping him from experiencing the world as whole. 

“I built you a house.” John grins at him, almost nervously, shy behind the glasses and teeth. “Maybe we can go see it.” 

It’s probably guilt that makes him crawl out into the cool night, where his inferno consumes the grass and spits out brittle ashes. He remembers the night as being big—in a way he couldn’t say it, in a way that the ceiling of the cavern never made him feel small, but this large sky above him made him understand why John’s eyes sparkled when he talked about his adventures. He finds the lowered temperature slightly unpleasant against his hot skin, but he can almost control his flames to be hot enough to cover him. When they reach the cliff and he melds into his house, he finds the heat immediately to be warm enough. It’s dark when John leaves, still limping and waving good-bye every five seconds until Dave can no longer see him.

He tries not to think about how different the world seems without the glass lantern. But even with his eyes firmly closed, hands clenched around his shades, he can still see John’s burning prickled flesh, the strange smell wafting away from it, never replicated in soy people. The pain feels sharper than his own trampled flame, an inexplicable emotion welling inside his heart, like water pouring over something precious. 

\--

John can’t visit for long, because he needs to go on another mission to save someone or something. Dave wants to be left alone, especially now the radiant sun basks along his back, so he only peeps out of the house long enough for John to show him how his wounds have healed (“the tears from a Cyclops, it really helps!”) before he pretends he’s sleepy and climbs back atop his kindling. 

He listens to John’s footsteps pad away down the bright hill, and Dave sits on top of his house and stares into the forest. In the Fire Kingdom, everything was only shades of red and brown and black, but here, there’s green and blue and he can see rainicorns off in the distance. He’s thankful for the shades, once again, even if he misses his lantern with soft pangs in his heart. There’s a lake nearby, and he’s thankful for that, even though he knows it could kill him. 

He’s thankful because John’s hand still looked red and shiny, and he still walked with a slight limp, the scarring running down and twisting around his knee. He doesn’t know what it feels like to be burned. He knows he runs hotter than most inhabitants of the Fire Kingdom. His brother told him as much. He knows the flowers break apart in his hand, and he knows the trail of blackened grass follows him around. 

But it’s the first time he carries the sickening realization that he can hurt someone, and he covers his ears with his hands because he hates the thought. He doesn’t like John, he really doesn’t like John, but he hides in the corner of his house shamefully as he replays the images of John’s burnt and swollen hand until he thinks being burned must feel like his aching heart. 

\--

It’s the first time he’s experienced rain, though he doesn’t get very wet. John built a house over his house, and he can peacefully sleep inside, even with riveting rain rolling off the roof. John says he looks cute this way, and even though Dave tch’s him away, he spends some time afterwards staring in the reflection of the shades. He supposes, with the rain, his fiery hair had turned a darker shade due to the dampness. 

The downpour becomes too heavy, and it’s the first time John sleeps over. It’s nearing midnight when he notices John shrinking into himself, clutching at his sides, and he carefully tiptoes on the ground to peer above him. The natural light from his fires glows on John’s face, and he thinks he sees something wet coming from John’s eyes. 

He mentions this in the morning, and John snorts. 

“No way. It must have been the rain.” 

“Sure.” Dave settles into his house again, stretching the upper part of his body on the floor. The rain splatters outside, sliding off the grass. “Didn’t think humans could produce water, anyway.”

“Well… They sorta can! It’s called crying. People do it when they’re sad. But I’m really not sad, see?” John stretches out his face comically, and Dave snorts into his hand shamefully. Shamefully, because it’s shameful to laugh at any of John’s stupid jokes. 

“I don’t cry, either,” he says. 

“You don’t count, because you’re basically fire, and fire doesn’t cry. It’s way more cool that I don’t cry than you not crying.” John wraps his hand in aluminum foil, the sound crinkling in the air. He rests his hand on top of Dave’s, and Dave gently grips it. The solidity of John’s hand gives him some comfort, more than he would like to admit. It’s different than what he felt the first time he touched John. Harder, crinkly, and a lot shinier. But he hopes John can at least feel some sensation other than pain, and he tries not to think about it too much.

“Maybe you cry when you sleep,” he says instead. 

“I don’t have anything to be sad about. I mean, there’s a whole bunch of adventures out there! And it’s super fun, everyday. Yesterday, I ate nothing but bacon. And then I went to that side of the hill, and found a broken television and I’m gonna fix it up. It’s pretty old, too.” 

“Did it come from before the war?” Dave asks, slithering some of his fire to flick lightly at John’s shoes. It’s his way of nudging him, but even with the flick, John takes a moment to respond. 

“Yeah,” he says in an odd voice. “Probably before the war. Maybe a family watched it, or something. The broken television, I mean.”

Dave tries to grip his wrist tighter, for some reason. He doesn’t realize he was trying until the smell of burning flesh hits both of them, and John has to scramble out into the rain to soothe his wrist. He does a funny little dance, and Dave laughs at him, and everything is back to normal. Except it’s the first time Dave insists John sleep over again, and he doesn’t know why, except it’s the first time he feels something warmer than his fire lighting up his insides, the first time he notices the way John’s collarbone sticks out awkwardly, the first time he notices John smiles less when he sleeps. 

\--

It’s the first time everything goes wrong. 

“I wrote you a song,” John says, almost sheepishly. “But it’s really bad! It’s a piece of crap. Crap, crap, crap.” 

“Probably.” Dave sits on the grass, idly burning the tip of a flower. “Sing it anyway.” 

“Well… Okay. But it’s crap!” After another worrisome second, where John teeths along the edge of his lip to make sure Dave understands the crappiness of the song, John clears his throat and starts a slow warble. 

“Good already,” Dave says, and he’s rewarded with a gentle kick to his leg. 

“Dave,” John says, half-singing. He clears his throat again, and starts again, “Dave, I even though you’re a loser, you’re better than the rest. Ever since I met you, I think you’re the best. You’re gonna get a big head, I’m living this down in dread, you’re gonna think this is cred, but you’re the guy I like the best, you’re stupider than the rest, but you’re hot and sometimes cool and funny, you’re gonna think I’m singing in jest, but you’re the coolest guy I know, you’re the coolest guy I know, you’re the coolest guy I kn-o-o-o-ow.” He finishes off the song awkwardly, hands tugging down his stupid blue shirt in a familiar movement. 

“So you think I’m cool. I knew that already.” Dave smirks, resting his chin on top of his hand. 

“I think you’re a huge loser!” John curls his hands into fists, moving them up and down energetically. “But I guess you’re cool, sometimes, too, and I know I like you. I like you a lot!” 

“You don’t even know me,” Dave begins. 

“I know you better, now! And it’s everything that made you special. When I first saw you, I was like, wow! This guy looks cool. Except you turned out to be a total dweeb and you follow your brother around like you’re lost and you get really fussy around dogs and you like flowers and you rap to yourself when you think nobody is looking except man, you are super loud, and also, you snore. But you’re cool, too. You’re cool because you pretend you don’t do the right thing, but you always try to do the right thing, by staying inside or going outside or whatever someone wants, but you do your best.” John gave a small hop closer, face tight with severity. “I know you, Dave, and I like you.”

John’s face doesn’t look expectant. But Dave feels something tug at his hands, an invisible motion inside him that makes his flames suddenly burst uncontrollably bigger. He manages to soothe them down, but his heart beats fast and it’s the first time he thinks he likes John, the hero and last human who built him a house and comes to play with him and defeats all the enemies with his hammer and stupid optimism. He thinks he likes John, and something pulls him forward and he kisses him, gently, even though he knows he would burn him. It’s the soft sensation that makes his fire bristle, and he’s kissing him—he’s really—kissing—him—

He’s falling. 

He’s falling sharply, because the earth opens up underneath his flames, and he can’t stop the fire scorching down the darkened hole. Everything grows darker, even as he tries to stop the flames from igniting from his hands, but the little uncontrollable flickers that plagued him for his childhood manifested in a raging fire beyond his touch, the ground collapsing and he’s collapsing, and he thinks _the glass lantern wasn’t meant to keep the world out, it was meant to keep him in_ because he’s unstable, he’s not stable enough to handle the world, and his fingers darken and his consciousness fades, an unspeakable regret in the face of glasses and buckteeth still clinging to his form.

\--

When he wakes up, he isn’t dead, like he thinks he would be. Glob doesn’t meet him, nor Death. Just—a figure pressed against his abdomen, and a small light of the hole. Something had blocked the way, and Dave stares down at his hands, which grow brighter, away from the extinguishment. When his glance falls further down, he recognizes the tuft of dark hair. 

“John!” He shoves John away from him frantically, even though parts of his limbs had already caught fire. He tries desperately to put them out through the dirt, but the oxygen grows scarce, and though he could control his flames, his body still kept on fire. He wouldn’t be able to touch John without hurting him. 

“Wake up, shit. Wake up, you fucker, I know this is a fucking prank,” he growls, trying to toss more dirt on his face, but John doesn’t move. John needs to wake up. John needs to wake up, but he’s not waking up, and his body eats up oxygen for every movement he makes. He stares down at John’s burnt face for a second, hands shaking at the shiny new burn marks on his lips. John’s the hero. He’s not the hero. He’s the prince, and he waits in his lantern for someone to come save him from himself. He’s not the hero, and he can’t do this. He can’t handle burning John again, and they were going to die, trapped in this small pit. 

Something drops out of his eye, and he jerks back, fearful of an infestation crawling out of his head. But it was only a piece of charred dust, still flaming on the ground. He stares at it for a second, and touches his face again. The people in the Fire Kingdom never cried. His brother had never cried. Even the Flambits never cried. But he sits in the bottom of the pit, and thinks, he might be crying. 

He grabs John by the waist, and tries not to burn too brightly. It hurts to have his flames extinguishing constantly by the weight of John’s chest, but it’d hurt more to have John burn. He learned that from the first time John had burned. He learned a lot from his first times, and he climbs onto the ledges from the pit. The heat doesn’t hurt him, but he’s running out of oxygen, fast. His breath comes out in short wheezes, and digging his fingers in the dirt is unstable, even when he tries to burn a stable hold into the rock. Even behind his shades, he can tell his flame is flickering out. The strong burst of his flames disappears from every touch, and his head feels light. 

His fingers slip from the rock, and he barely catches John again, hanging from two fingers into the dirt. The fall is far, but the exit is further, and he wheezes uncomfortably from his chest. He’s not a hero. He tells himself this, even as he swings back to grab onto the wall again, holding John’s limp body close to him. He’s not a hero. He’s not a hero. He’s not a hero. It becomes a distant rhythm for him to climb further up, breath squeezing out in short pants. He’s not a hero. He’s not a hero. He’s not a hero. 

He’s not a hero. 

He’s not a hero. 

He’s not a hero. 

(But John’s a hero, and that’s why he needs to be heroic.)

He’s not a hero.

He’s not a hero.

He’s not a hero…

\--

He knows who’s knocking on glass lantern, even without turning around. In fact, he refuses to turn around, still licking his wounds by eating as many flammable materials as possible. But even as he grows intent on burning up firewood, John circles around to face him, face beaming despite wrapped up in bandages. 

“Dave, it’s me,” John says, like it’s been two years instead of two days. Dave merely shrugs, and concentrates on rubbing his hands against the kindling. 

“Thanks for saving me and stuff. I mean, that was really great of you. So, thanks?” John’s voice comes out unusually muffled until Dave remembers he’s back in his little lantern again, so all noises and colors come out soft and diluted. He doesn’t mind. He pushes his shades firmly back to his nose.

“I’m the one putting you in danger,” he says flatly. 

“Well, it was an accident…”

“Yeah, it was an accident. And accidents are going to keep happening. Shit,” Dave says, and his hands snap into a hotter flame. “I’m going to destroy the fucking world. They told me it would happen. They told me. And it’s going to keep happening, too, unless I sit in here and do what I’m told. Feed me treats, give me scandalous magazines, that’s all I need, or else no more Candy Kingdom, good-bye talking hot dogs. I'd destroy it all. I'd make it happen, mang. I'd make it happen.” 

“Dave,” John says, laughing. “You’re fourteen! You’re like, an adult and everything. Super adulty. You wouldn’t destroy the world.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m an adult. You’re gonna be an adult your next birthday, too. We’ll be adults together, and we’ll watch with our aged years of wizened wisdom when I burn apart the earth’s crust with my bare fucking hands.” Dave kicks away a wood, and it rolls back to him from the slant of the lantern. He picks it up, dejectedly, and lights it on fire again.

“You saved me,” John says, planting down his foot. “That’s what matters. Are you coming out or not? I’m going to take you somewhere cool because you saved me. It’s like a gift! Anywhere you want.” 

“I’m not just shitting to myself, Glob on a fucking hopping kangaroo.” Dave runs his hands through his hair, staring down at his shoes. “You heard what they said. Can’t handle emotions, or I’ll start off higher and faster than a firecracker, except I’m exploding inside the earth. That’s why they put me inside this glass cage, it’s because shit son, I can’t handle the sun and basic emotions.”

“That’s not going to happen.” 

“Yeah, it’s not going to happen because I’m spending the rest of my life in here.” 

“No, you’re not, because I worked really hard to build you a house and we can hang out better if you’re outside.” John kneels down, gingerly, his burnt limbs still limp underneath the bandages. “I’m a hero. Trust me!” 

“All right, hero. What’s your big heroic plan?” Dave frowns at John and his phantom reflection on the glass. 

“I dunno. We’ll just… have you not explode?” John shrugs indifferently, like the fate of the world could handle itself. “Come on, Dave. I really want you to come hang out with me.” 

“It’s not possible.” 

“It is possible! All you have to do is step out of there! I like you a lot, Dave.” 

“Don’t say that shit to me.” 

“I like you a lot! I like you tons! I like you!” John presses his face against the glass, oddly reminiscent of the first time Dave had seen him. “See? You’re not exploding.”

“Because I’ve heard that same song before. The first time you came.” Dave hides a small smile behind his knees, because even in his time of despair, the thought of John stupidly pressing himself against the glass cheered him up. A lot of thoughts about John cheered him up, during the two days when John swam in Cyclops tears. He thinks being a prince means doing what’s best for his people, and for all the people he met when he was stupid enough to go outside. So he can't do this. He can't do this for John's stupid smile, or the stupid bright look on his face.

“Exactly. After you do it the first time, it’s not so bad, right?” John presses his bandaged hand against the glass. “After the first time, there’s second times. And we’re gonna have a bunch of second times. I’m going to make you a second song, and then we’ll have a second sleepover, or a third? We’ll have a lot of times together, Dave. The world’s not gonna explode because you’re happy. I promise.” 

“You can’t promise that,” Dave says. 

“Maybe. But there’s a way, Dave. And once you get out of this stupid lantern, I’m gonna destroy it forever, so you have to stop pretending that you’re this stupid guy, because you’re not all stupid. Sometimes you’re stupid. You’re stupid about food.” John grins, and Dave uneasily shifts in his seat. 

He knows John is an idiot. He’s an optimistic idiot, who doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation. He knows he should be responsible and stay in the lantern, but he thinks about the large night sky above him, and the world beyond. There were kingdoms filled with soft and fluffy people, skeletons, food, adventures with labyrinths and dungeons and treasures. He thinks about John sitting next to him as they stare at the night stars, and listening to John’s soft wheeze at the end of his laughs. 

He leans forward, slightly, and John follows suit. After another moment, he kisses the glass, and even though his eyes are closed, he knows John is kissing back. The world might explode around him, but for some reason, he’s convinced of his safety by John’s stupid shitty speech, and the whispery feeling of a third kiss.


End file.
